


To Be Himself

by RavieSnake



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 12:52:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5586139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavieSnake/pseuds/RavieSnake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is a time for family. But Hermione's family is truly horrible. They never approve of her dates and she's decided to try and beat them at their own game. How? By inviting Draco Malfoy to join their holiday with free reign to 'be himself.' </p>
<p>But Hermione quickly realizes she doesn't really know Draco at all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Agreement

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdzeword](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdzeword/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters from it. I make no money from the writing/publishing of this story.
> 
> A/N: I hope I did your prompt justice. It was fun to write anyway... :)

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Draco Malfoy leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his lap as he regarded the woman sitting on the other side of his desk with an amused smirk.

“And what, pray tell, could you _possibly_ offer me that would make such an obnoxious use of my precious and valuable time worthwhile?”

Hermione Granger held her spine stiff and squared her shoulders. “I’ll pay you.”

One of Draco’s eyebrows ticked upward. “You think you can afford me?”

“I have a savings account,” she nodded.

“And how much is in this…savings account?” he asked, putting on an expression of interest. “Ten thousand Galleons? Twenty?”

Hermione blinked at him and lost some of her posturing. “Two thousand,” she replied quietly.

Draco laughed. “I’ve made more than that just sitting here on my arse listening to your ridiculous proposition.”

Hermione lifted her head high again and jutted out her chin. “Do you want the money or not?”

“Oh, I always want the money,” he said, leaning forward on his desk and folding his arms neatly, “but I’m afraid I just couldn’t do it for a paltry two thousand Galleons.”

Hermione pursed her lips as she rather unsuccessfully attempted to mask her disappointment. “Then I’m…I apologize for wasting your time,” she said, pushing herself up from the chair to stand.

“Sit down,” Draco said coolly.

Hermione shot him a glare at the order, but slowly retook her seat.

“I wasn’t done speaking,” Draco said, his face serious.

“You said you couldn’t do it,” Hermione said irritably, “there was no more reason for me to stay.”

“Did I say I couldn’t do it?” he said challengingly.

Hermione frowned at him. “Yes,” she said tersely and Draco shook his head.

“I believe I said I couldn’t do it for a paltry two thousand Galleons,” he said smugly.

“Well, that’s as good as a hard ‘no’,” she said, “because I don’t have anything more to offer you.”

Draco smirked again. “Oh, I don’t think that’s true.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not that desperate,” she nearly sneered. Draco suddenly looked annoyed.

“I’m a lot of things, Granger, but a lecher is not one of them. Get your brilliant mind out of the gutter.”

“Then what do you want?” she asked shortly, crossing her arms.

Draco tilted his head as he studied her for a moment. “You should have seen your face,” he said lightly, “when you thought I said I wouldn’t do it.  You were crushed.”

Hermione furrowed her brow at that and opened her mouth to retort but Draco rushed on before she could speak.

“And you’ve offered me your entire, adorable little savings account. I wonder…how terrible is this family of yours that you would be willing to pay so much and come begging to _me_ to teach them a lesson?”

“I’m not begging,” Hermione said defensively.

Draco merely smiled at her. “Ask me again.”

“What?”

“Ask me nicely if I’ll agree to your little scheme.”

Hermione looked at him suspiciously but said, “Will you come to-”

“No, no, no,” Draco interrupted, shaking his head reprovingly, “I said nicely. Try, ‘ _pretty please, Draco, will you come to my family’s Christmas gathering with me?_ ’”

Hermione glared at him and he simply batted his eyes at her expectantly. She took several calming breaths before finally saying, “Pretty please, Malfoy-“

“Draco,” he corrected in a sickly sweet tone. Hermione simmered in her seat.

“Pretty please, _Draco_ ,” she nearly spat, “will you come to my family’s Christmas gathering with me?”

“Oh, I think you can do better than that,” he said, leaning back in his chair again. “Try ‘pretty, pretty please’. And I want to see a smile.”

Hermione looked at war with herself as the blond watched her with a smug grin. Several seconds passed before her mouth finally pulled up into a simpering smile.

“Pretty, pretty please, Draco, will you come to my family’s Christmas gathering with me?” she asked tweely.

Draco returned her smile. “And you said you weren’t desperate.”

The smile on Hermione’s face flattened into a grim line and Draco laughed again.

“Your family must be truly insufferable,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Though being Muggle, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

A flicker of anger flashed behind Hermione’s eyes as she suddenly stood. “Forget I came here,” she said crossly, turning to stalk toward the door. Just as she put her hand to the handle Draco called out.

“I’ll want the two thousand upfront.”

Hermione paused and looked over her shoulder. She eyed him skeptically for a long moment before lowering her hand and turning to face him. “Two thousand upfront,” she agreed with a nod.

Draco uncrossed his arms and reached over to pick his wand up from his desk. “Sit back down and we can go over my additional terms before making our little agreement official.”

“Additional terms?” Hermione said as she came back across his office and lowered herself into the chair again.

“I did say two thousand Galleons was insufficient,” he replied casually. He held out his left hand across his desk to her. “Now then…”

When Hermione simply stared at the offered hand, Draco rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to take my hand if we’re going to make this a binding agreement, Granger,” he said.

“I don’t want a binding agreement with you, Malfoy,” she frowned back, “it’s a simple transaction.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he said, still holding out his hand, “and this is one of my terms. A binding vow…to make sure we _both_ hold-up our ends.”

“I’ll pay you the money,” Hermione said, affronted at any implication that she wouldn’t.

Draco nodded to his hand again. “I know you will.”

Hermione glowered at him for another moment and then, with a resigned huff, thrust out her hand to take his. He smiled as he wrapped his fingers around hers.

“It’s going to be a pleasure working with you on this, Granger,” he said in delight.

“I’m sure,” Hermione muttered sarcastically. “Just make sure you remember who it is that’s in charge here.”

Draco gave her a solemn bow of his head. “Of course,” he said with a serious moue. “Now my terms…”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Are you mental?”

Hermione looked ruefully across the table at her long-time friend. “Apparently,” she answered, stabbing her fork dejectedly at the remains of her lunch. Ron Weasley continued to frown down at the parchment in his hands.

“And you really agreed to this?” he asked. “With a _binding_ vow?”

“He wouldn’t have done it otherwise,” she said with a weak shrug.

Ron shook his head slightly as he read the list. “He gets to bring you to and from the function? He does know you’re going to basically be in the middle of nowhere, right? Just how exactly does he intend to get you there…in a bloody carriage?”

Hermione put her forehead in her hand. “I don’t know,” she whimpered. “Don’t suppose I really care, though. A carriage might add to the whole effect.”

“You’re not allowed to contradict any lie he tells them?” Ron went on reading. “What the fuck, Hermione? He could tell them anything!”

“Well, the idea is to shock them,” she sighed. “What’s the worst he could say?”

Ron gaped at her. “It’s Malfoy,” he reminded her. “And the way he’s worded this…you can’t _ever_ tell them the truth without his permission…even afterward.”

Hermione gave him a look. “It doesn’t prevent me from telling them all that he’s mentally unstable and likes making things up,” she said.

“I suppose,” he said, furrowing his brow deeper at the list. “I still don’t see why you’re doing this to yourself. Your life savings, Hermione… having to spend an entire weekend with _Malfoy_ …is this really worth it?”

Hermione set down her fork and placed her hands in her lap. "He's not _that_ bad," she sighed. "He's intelligent, works hard, he's good-looking...he'd have real potential if he wasn't such a...a…"

"Giant arsehole?" Ron suggested when she trailed off.

"Yeah...that," she said, "but that's why I picked him. I've seen his ruthlessness and sarcasm at work in those boardrooms; he gets things done. If anyone can beat my family at their own game it'd be him."

 “Why even bother going to that damn get-together every year? Come to the Burrow. Spend Christmas with all of us,” he offered.

Hermione smiled appreciatively at him but shook her head. “It’s your first Christmas as a daddy. You should be focusing on enjoying your family without me getting in the way.”

“You are my family,” Ron said seriously. “Come stay with us.”

“You know that’s not a good idea,” she said, her smile fading.

Ron sighed as he bowed his head in a light nod. “Yeah, I know,” he said gloomily. “I’m sorry about her you know. It’s not that she hates you, she’s just…”

“It’s fine, Ron,” Hermione said, “if I were in her place I’m sure I wouldn’t be too keen on the idea of my husband’s ex-girlfriend hanging around either.”

“She just gets jealous sometimes,” Ron continued to try and explain.

“I can’t blame her,” Hermione smiled at him affectionately. He set down the parchment and smiled back as he nudged her leg under the table with his own.

“I love you,” he said.

Hermione nodded as she inhaled a deep breath. “And THAT is why I’m not welcome in your home,” she teased, reaching forward to pick up the parchment. Ron chuckled at that but then sobered as they searched each other’s eyes.

“Don’t let Malfoy bully you tomorrow,” he said, “binding vow or no, don’t take his shit.”

Hermione shook her head as she stuffed the parchment into her pocket. “I’ll be fine,” she said, shrugging on her coat then and lifting her bag from the back of her chair. “I ought to be going though. I’ve still got a few things to do. Thank you for the lunch; this was really lovely.”

“Anytime,” Ron said, standing as Hermione pushed up from her seat. He stepped around the table and embraced her. “Really,” he said more firmly in her ear, “take care of yourself.”

“I always have,” Hermione replied, pulling back from the hug to smile at him. “Give Hugo kisses from his Auntie Hermione, yeah?”

Ron nodded. “Of course.”

“Happy Christmas, Ron,” she said sincerely.

“Happy Christmas, Hermione,” he said before she slung her bag over her shoulder, pulled at her coat and then turned to go.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 “You look handsome.”

Draco eyed his mother through the reflection in his wardrobe mirror as he finished adjusting the knot in his tie at his neck. He gave her a small smile as she approached him.

“Here,” she said with a hand to his shoulder, turning him to face her, “let me see.”

Draco lowered his hands and stood still as he allowed her to appraise his appearance.

“You’ve always been good at tying these things,” Narcissa said fondly, her delicate fingers brushing over his tie, “Can’t say the same for your father.”

“Can I be expecting him to wish me Happy Christmas before I’m off?” Draco asked in a tone that clearly conveyed he already knew the answer was ‘no’.

Narcissa simply ran her hands over her son’s broad shoulders as she smoothed away the stray imperfections in his crisp shirt. “You know your father,” she said, her eyes carefully averted from his as she continued to look him over.

Draco inhaled deeply. “You’ll give him my regards then?”

“Of course,” she said softly, finally lowering her hands from him. She glanced over at the packed bag on Draco’s bed and sighed. “Are you certain that this is what you want?” she asked.

“I’ve been certain since I was thirteen, mother,” he said quietly.

Narcissa nodded slightly and lovingly brushed a hair behind his ear. “I wish you well, my darling,” she said with a watery smile, “I hope you find what you are seeking.”

Draco made the small step forward to close the distance between them and embraced her lightly.

“I’ll miss you,” she said in his ear.

“I’ll be back on the 27th,” he assured her. She nodded against him and when he finally stepped back from her she forced him a smile.

“Happy Christmas, Draco,” she said.

“Happy Christmas, mother,” he reciprocated and then turned to pick up his bag.

 


	2. Transit

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Hermione bit anxiously at her thumbnail as she peered out her front window. She quickly pulled the finger away from her mouth and frowned down at the small chip she’d caused in the red enamel.

“Damn it,” she cursed to herself, rubbing at the tiny imperfection in what was an otherwise beautiful manicure. She huffed, lowering the hand in defeat as she turned her attention back out her window to see a car slowing to a stop before her house.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at it.

“Of course he would,” she sighed as she watched Draco step out of the expensive luxury car, “why _wouldn’t_ Draco Malfoy arrive in a Muggle car that costs more than a house to bring me there?”

She watched him come up her front walk, hands in the pockets of his perfectly tailored, black pea coat, then went to the door when he knocked. With a giant inhalation of breath she opened it.

Draco, perfected signature smirk already in place, looked up at her. “Good afternoon,” he said pleasantly.

“Malfoy, what the hell is that?” Hermione demanded without greeting him. He merely turned his head in the direction of her pointed finger to look at the parked car. He slowly turned back to her and arched an eyebrow.

“It’s a car,” he said, slowly enunciating each word to her as if she were a toddler.

Hermione frowned at him. “I bloody well know it’s a car.”

Draco gave a confused shrugged. “Then why are you asking?” he said and then shivered. “And… am I to stand out here all day in the cold or can we perhaps continue the useless Q and A indoors?”

Hermione simply stood to the side and held the door open wider to invite him in. He stepped in and shook off the cold as she shut the door.

“Good afternoon, Draco,” he drawled at her sarcastically. She rolled her eyes.

“Do you really expect me to call you Draco all weekend?” she said, crossing her arms.

He gave her a tiny pout. “Do you refer to all of your boyfriends by their surnames?”

“You are not my boyfriend,” she said surely.

Draco merely shrugged, hands still in his pockets as he looked around. “I am until Monday morning according to our deal.”

Hermione pursed her lips. “I suppose so,” she agreed reluctantly. “Just make sure you remember the rest of it as well.”

Draco’s mouth tugged up into a sly grin. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, pulling his hands free to grab for her coat that was hanging on a hook beside the door, “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

He held up her coat with a gesture for her to come and put it on and she narrowed her eyes at him.

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

“Helping you with your coat,” he answered as if it were obvious. “It’s cold outside.”

Hermione remained in place and stared at him. “I think I can manage to get on my own coat,” she said.

Draco merely smiled and held the coat a little higher. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t offer to help? Now stick those pretty arms of yours in so we can be on our way.”

One of Hermione’s brows arched up into her scalp, but she slowly, cautiously stepped toward him. Her eyes kept a guarded watch on him over her shoulder as she slipped into her coat in his hands. She froze in place when Draco went the extra step and lifted her hair to pull it free from the collar.

"Your hair looks nice," he said, "Sleekeazy's?"

Hermione shrugged away from him and cast him a calculating look as she buttoned up the coat.

"Yes," she answered uncomfortably. Draco appeared not to take notice and pointed to a travel bag sitting on a side table.

“Is that what you’re bringing for the weekend?” he asked. At Hermione’s nod he picked it up and slung it over his shoulder.

“Malfoy,” she said with a sigh, “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but stop.”

Draco gave her a confused look. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Hermione frowned and pointed at her bag. “Why are you carrying that?”

He glanced down at the bag he was holding and then back up at her. “It’s your bag,” he said, suddenly looking concerned, “are you feeling alright?”

Hermione stepped up to him and pulled the bag off of his arm and threw it over her own. “I’m fine,” she answered as she did so.

Draco merely shrugged. “Are you ready then? We ought to be off if we’re to make it there by meal time.  I understand it’s rather a far drive.”

“Yeah, about that,” she said, looking suspicious again, “since when do you drive?”

“I got my license three years ago,” he answered easily, tugging a wallet from the back pocket of his trousers. He flipped it open to show her his very legitimate-looking Muggle drivers’ license. She squinted her eyes at it and then hummed.

“Why?” she asked with genuine curiosity.

He smirked as he put the wallet away. “So I can drive all my girlfriends around,” he quipped.

“That!” Hermione said, pointing at him. “More of that. _That’s_ what I’m paying you for.”

Draco gaped at her. “What?”

“The snark,” she explained, “and the arrogance. Like you do.”

“If I remember the arrangement correctly,” he said, “you requested that I ‘be myself’.”

Hermione smiled. “Exactly.”

Draco’s smirk got wider. “I _did_ make a binding vow to ‘be myself’ didn’t I?”

“You did,” she said, looking smug and missing the way Draco’s eyes flashed with amusement.

“This is going to be an interesting weekend,” he said as he leaned over and opened the door.

“I’m counting on it,” Hermione said, allowing him to hold the door as she passed through into the cold. Draco waited for her then stepped out himself and closed the door behind him. After Hermione cast a quick ward on the house, he held his arm out to her.

“My lady,” he said cordially. Hermione rolled her eyes at him and walked by him toward the car.

“Let’s go,” she said over her shoulder. Draco grinned after her and then hurried up to the car to pull open her door with a slight bow.

“I could’ve gotten it,” she said, though she slid into the plush seat.

Draco pointed to her right hand. “Wouldn’t want you to chip any more paint,” he said.

Hermione glanced down at her thumb with the almost imperceptible missing fleck in its red polish and then looked back up at him in silent shock, but he was already closing the door to walk around the car to his side.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Sal, Imogen, Jude, Peg, Len, and…and…” Draco furrowed his brow slightly as he drove. “Who were the others again?”

“I really don’t expect you to remember them all,” Hermione said as she casually inspected her nails again beside him in the car. “It’s not as if you’re ever going to see them again after this.”

“You never know,” he said.

Hermione looked sideways at him. “You won’t want to see them again,” she said surely.

Draco’s brow creased a little more. “If they’re so awful, why bother visiting them?”

Hermione turned her gaze out her window. “They’re the only family I have.”

“What about Potter?” he asked. “Or Weasley?”

There was a long pause before Hermione sighed. “They have their own families.”

Draco cast her a quick glance to see her staring gloomily out at the barren winter landscape as it passed. “You could just stay home,” he suggested.

She shook her head. “No, I…Christmas is time for family,” she said weakly.

“And you thought of me,” Draco teased. Hermione’s face pulled into one of indignant surprise at the comment and he laughed. “How long have we been together anyway, my dearest?” he asked.

When Hermione simply stared at him he cocked an eyebrow and shot her an amused smirk.

“Won’t old Aunt Imogen be curious?” he asked playfully. Hermione rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to retort when a deer suddenly bounded out into the road before them.

“Watch out!” she screamed, pointing at the windshield. Draco snapped his eyes back forward.

“Shit!” he shouted as he slammed on the brakes. He flung his left arm out across Hermione’s chest as his right hand clutched, white-knuckled to the wheel and the car came to a screeching halt mere inches from the animal frozen with fear in the road.

Hermione and Draco both panted slightly with their sudden rushes of adrenaline as they watched the giant stag standing in front of the car slowly regain its awareness and then walk off.

“Are…are you alright?” Draco asked, lowering his arm from before her. She nodded mutely, her eyes tracking after the arm as he moved it. They sat in awkward silence then in the idling car in the middle of the otherwise deserted road for a minute until Draco finally changed gears to start off again.

“Fucking deer,” he muttered. Hermione quietly watched him rather deftly change gears several more times until they were at last traveling at their previous speed and then shifted her gaze back out the window.

They spent the next hour in silence as they drove through the increasingly more rural landscape. It was Hermione that spoke first.

“Six months,” she said out of nowhere.

Draco kept his eyes on the road as he replied. “Six months?”

“How long we’ve been together,” she explained, turning toward him, “I think six months would be believable. Long enough that we’re definitely a couple but short enough that they won’t be suspicious that they haven’t heard about you before now.”

“Six months, huh…” he said thoughtfully, “so we’re fucking then.”

Hermione choked on her own saliva. “What?”

Draco looked entirely unperturbed. “You don’t think we’d be having sex after six months together?” he asked coolly.

“I, uh…I suppose we would be,” she replied uneasily. “Though I don’t see what it matters.”

“Believability,” he said, “I need to know what level of intimacy to portray. How shocking do you want to be?”

Hermione’s mouth opened and closed several times and then frowned at him. “To be honest…the extent of my plans stopped at you simply acting like a jerk the whole time,” she answered, twisting herself in her seat against the safety belt to face him. “I never considered that we’d need to act… that they might expect to see a certain amount of affection to believe our story.”

Draco’s lips pursed into a thin line as he glared ahead. “You thought they’d just accept that I’m your boyfriend without calling me by my given name and without touching me?” he asked.

Hermione considered him a moment. “My intention was to have them be so appalled at your behavior that they’ll be more accepting when I bring a real boyfriend around again. They’ve sent every bloke I’ve been with running. They’re brutally condemnatory and I’m tired of being alone and shamed. After you…they’ll consider anyone else a blessing.”

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps you’ve just been dating uncultured pricks?” he asked. Hermione laughed.

“Uncultured maybe, but pricks…no,” she said, tilting her head up at him, “not until you anyway.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed as he drove. “That’s me,” he said shortly, “the prick.”

Hermione’s brow knitted together as she noticed the shift in his mood and the way he was glaring out the windshield.

“Always the prick,” he added in a voice so quiet she almost didn’t hear him. She slowly eased back into her seat but kept her eyes on him.

“Are you upset?” she asked sincerely.

Draco’s expression immediately morphed back into his normal smirk. “Of course not. Why should I be upset?”

Hermione shrugged. “You just seemed like you were just now.”

He shook his head. “Just thinking,” he said, “thinking about the wording of our agreement. I wouldn’t want to be accused of breaking it later.”

“Just be yourself and things will work out,” she reminded yet again. “Besides it’d be near impossible to break it with the binding vow. The pain would be too excruciating to try to.”

Draco’s fingers gripped a little tighter on the steering wheel. “I know.”

Hermione gave him one last wary look before resting her head back with a small whimper.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked.

“I just hate this drive,” she sighed, closing her eyes tiredly, “it’s so long and tedious. I’ve grown so accustomed to Floo travel and Apparating that car rides like this always make me uncomfortable. My neck hurts and my butt’s asleep.”

That coaxed a smile out of him. “Push the button on the side of your seat,” he told her. She opened her eyes and looked perplexed.

“What?”

“The silver button,” he said, “it’s just on the left side of the seat. Press it.”

Hermione frowned as she looked down around her seat. “I don’t see a silver button.”

Draco made an annoyed grumbling noise, but carefully leaned over and reached his left arm across her. With his right hand still on the wheel and his eyes still on the road, Draco fumbled his fingers along the side of Hermione’s seat base.

Hermione tensed far into the seat back as Draco pressed against her as he felt for the button.

“Oooh!” she cried out in surprise when her seat suddenly vibrated to life. Draco grinned as he straightened himself upright again.

“Better?” he asked, amused at the small look of shock on her face.

“You have massaging seats in your car?” she said, moving her bum slightly against the pleasant sensation.

Draco chuckled. “Obviously.”

Hermione cast him a shifty look. “Explain the car thing to me,” she said, “why do you have one?”

“Don’t you have one?” he replied.

“Yes…but you’re a wizard.”

Draco cocked an eyebrow. “And you’re a witch….”

Hermione studied him for a moment. “True…I suppose I just never considered that a Pureblood would be interested in traveling like a Muggle.”

“Normally I don’t,” he admitted. Hermione frowned.

“’Then why?”

Draco gave a resigned sigh. “If you must know…I have a bit of a thing for a Muggle-born woman. I thought it’d be practical to familiarize myself with the basics of Muggle life for her.”

Hermione looked completely taken aback by the confession. “ _You_ like a Muggle-born?”

He merely nodded and Hermione twisted her mouth in thought. “You got your license three years ago. You’ve been carrying a torch for this woman for that long?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed again. “How much farther?” he asked, avoiding her question. Hermione eyed the nearest street sign.

“We’re nearly there,” she answered quietly.


	3. Arrival

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Oh gods,” Hermione groaned when a large farmhouse finally came into view.

“That’s it, I take it?” Draco said, turning the car onto a long, gravel drive that led up to the house at Hermione’s nod.

“And everyone’s already here,” she said dismally at the sight of the other cars parked beside the house.

“Tell me their names again,” he said.

“Aunt Imogen, Uncle Sal, Aunt Jude, Uncle Len, cousin Peg, cousin Isabelle, and cousin Jett,” she answered. “This is Sal and Imogen’s house. Aunt Imogen and Aunt Jude are my father’s sisters. They weren’t especially close. In fact, he…”

She made a small nostalgic noise. “…he used to call them the ‘wicked witches.’”

Draco watched her lose herself in some sort of reminiscence for a second and then shake her head.

“Where was I…oh right,” she went on, “So, Sal and Imogen hate each other, but are both too stubborn to get divorced. Jett is their son. He’s big, mean and stupid. Jude and Len are married. They’re happy together but are very snobbish and blunt. Peg and Isabelle are their daughters. Twins. They’re shallow and catty. They’ll probably hit on you…in front of me.”

Draco brought the car to a stop next to one of the others and set the brake. “Who’s the alpha?” he asked. Hermione snorted as she grabbed their bags from the back seat.

“Aunt Imogen is definitely the matriarch. If you’re in her good graces then everyone else sort of follows suit and accepts you. Well…not Sal. He’ll probably try and make you miserable and unwelcome regardless just because he is. No one likes him. Anyway…” she sighed dramatically. “Imogen’s never liked me.”

“Why not?” he asked curiously.

Hermione frowned up at the house. “She’s really narcissistic. Mum and Dad never had the patience for it and she and they used to row horribly. Now that they’re gone… she’s transferred her disdain to me.”

Draco hummed as he too looked up at the house. “How about we go and meet this charming lady.”

Hermione played anxiously with the strap of her bag between her fingers. “Look, Malfoy,” she said quietly, “I…I know I’m paying you and all, but I want to thank you in advance for agreeing to do this. I realize you’re giving up Christmas with your own family and possibly whatever witch you’ve got a fancy for and I…”

She paused and looked up at him. “Just…thanks.”

Draco shrugged. “My family’s not big on Christmas,” he said, “just me and my parents anyway and my father’s not speaking to me at the moment so…it’s fine.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione began to offer, but he waved her off.

“I’m not.”

He adjusted his own bag on his arm and then made to open his door. “Are you ready then?” he asked her. Hermione glanced back at the house and, with a huge breath in, nodded. She swiftly exited the car and waited as Draco came around it to her side.

“Put your arm in mine,” he said quickly out the side of his mouth as the front door of the house opened and an auburn haired woman peered out at them with a shrewd expression as they started up the front walk. Hermione immediately took his arm at his commanding tone and let him lead her.

“That’s Imogen,” Hermione whispered discreetly.  Draco hummed in acknowledgement and then glanced at the large front window where three women with pointed faces had appeared and were looking out and motioning to Draco’s car while obviously speaking in hushed tones to each other.

“Jude, Peg, and Isabelle?” he whispered back with a tiny nudge of his arm against Hermione’s ribs to bring her attention to the window. She furrowed her brow at them but gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

“Hermione,” her aunt called out to them, “you remembered where we live.”

“Delightful greeting,” Draco muttered under his breath. Hermione stifled a snigger as they ascended the front steps to come before Imogen.

“Aunt Imogen,” Hermione said cheerfully, “so good to see you again.”

The woman barely acknowledged her greeting and cocked a brow as she looked her over.

“Well, it looks like you’ve been eating well,” she said snidely.

Hermione’s smile faltered slightly and she felt Draco’s arm tense against hers.

“I’ve been eating like I norm-”

“You didn’t mention that you’d be bringing a guest,” Imogen interrupted reproachfully, her brown eyes narrowing at Draco. “We only prepared one room.”

“Sorry,” Hermione began, “Aunt Imogen this is-”

“For the love of Christ woman, let them in the damn house before you berate them for their rudeness!” a man’s voice shouted from within the house. Imogen rolled her eyes and stepped back to holler back inside.

“So help me, Sal,” she yelled, “you will not blaspheme in my house!”

“My house too goddam it!” came his response as Imogen glared hatefully into the house at him.

Draco cast Hermione a wide-eyed look and she gave him an apologetic grimace that she quickly schooled back into a smile when Imogen looked back at them.

“Might as well come in,” she said to them, opening the door wider to allow them in. “Hurry up…you’re letting the heat out.”

Draco and Hermione both hurried inside and quickly stepped to the side as Imogen slammed the door shut.

 “Who’s the pretty boy?” a young, heavy-set man with dark, beady eyes and spiked brown hair asked as he walked up to them while the other members of the family did the same.

“Jett,” Hermione said with a nod to him before looking around at the others, “Everyone. This is my boyfriend Draco. Draco Malfoy.”

Jett snorted. “Draco? What kind of a freak name is that?”

Hermione sucked in a breath and looked eagerly at Draco for his response. The blond merely smiled.

“It means ‘dragon’,” he said calmly.

“Malfoy?” Jude spoke up from beside her daughters, “Are you French?”

Draco continued to smile. “I have a chateau in France, but my family’s from Wiltshire.”

The younger women beside Jude both glanced excitedly at each other.

“Is that really _your_ car outside?” one of them asked.

“Are you rich?” asked the other.

“Girls,” Jude admonished them before Draco could respond. Peg and Isabelle both gave their mother a pout as Imogen interjected herself back into the fray.

“Your parents named you dragon?” she asked referring back to her son’s inquiry.

“My father thought it would make me sound powerful,” he nodded easily.

Jett scoffed at him. “You don’t look very powerful,” he said, looking him over with a shake of his head.

One of Draco’s brows ticked upward. “Well, I suppose that means I’ve got the element of surprise on my side then don’t I?”

Jett looked perplexed by the statement but an impressed chuckle floated up from the thin, bespectacled man with perfectly parted and oiled black hair at the back of the group.

“The man knows how to talk,” he said, pushing forward past his daughters. “Aren’t you going to introduce us all?” he asked, looking expectantly at Hermione.

She smiled at her uncle. “Of course,” she said, taking a small step closer to Draco, “Draco, this is my Uncle Len…”

“Pleasure,” Draco said, reaching forward to shake the man’s offered hand. Len returned a scheming smile and Hermione pointed to the next person.

“This is my Aunt Jude…”

Jude didn’t offer her hand and simply raised her chin at him.

“Charmed,” Draco nodded back at her. She pursed her lips, but looked approving.

“And these are my cousins,” Hermione went on, motioning to the raven-haired twins wearing heavy eye make-up and tight dresses, “Peg and Isabelle.”

The girls each held out a hand and Draco took one in each of his own and bent over them. “Ladies,” he practically purred, setting a kiss to each of their knuckles. The two girls retracted their hands and then pressed their heads together in a fit of quiet giggles and whispers.

Hermione frowned at the interaction and turned to Draco so her family couldn’t see her face.

“What are you _doing_?” she hissed at him angrily. Draco smirked at her.

“I’m being myself,” he whispered back with a wink.

“It’s rude to whisper,” a squat, balding man wearing denim coveralls blurted out as he waddled into the mix. He scowled at Draco. “And is Mr. Invite-myself-over-fancy-car going to actually stay or are you just going to loiter about in my front hall in your coats all day?”

“And this is Uncle Sal,” Hermione said cheerily despite the man’s awful demeanor. Draco offered out his hand and Sal wrinkled his nose at it.

“You queer?” the man sneered.

“I’m sorry?” Draco said, pulling back his hand. Hermione bit her lip anxiously as she began to unbutton her coat and watched Draco’s face.

“Isn’t he charming?” Imogen scowled sarcastically in her husband’s direction.

“Not the word I’d use, no,” Draco said as he followed Hermione’s lead and tugged off his coat. He laid it over the arm that was holding his travel bag and looked back at Sal who simply glared at him.

“You gonna answer me, Dirk?”

Draco shook his head. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Peg and Isabelle both sniggered and Len, Jude, and Imogen all exchanged amused glances as Sal simmered.

“You’re in _my_ house, boy,” Sal said in a threatening tone.

“I know,” Draco replied politely, “and I’m appreciative of your hospitality, Sam.”

“The name is Sal not Sam,” the older man said crossly.

“Oh,” Draco said nonchalantly, “my apologies. I thought perhaps it was some tradition of yours to make up names for one another. After all, you called me Dirk when Hermione very obviously introduced me not two minutes ago as Draco.”

Sal blinked at Draco with astounded eyes as the hovering family members made no attempt to hide their glee and Hermione stared on in disbelief.

“No,” the man finally said curtly, “that is not a tradition here.”

Draco smiled and patted Sal on the back. “Well then between the name mix-up and asking me if I’m queer when Hermione clearly stated I was her boyfriend, I’d say it’s time to get the hearing checked, Sal old boy,” he said with a wink. Sal began to splutter indignantly, but Draco merely turned to a grinning Aunt Imogen.

“And who is this lovely creature?” he asked, offering out his hand.

Hermione took a calming breath but said, “Draco, this is my Aunt Imogen.”

Draco gave her a brilliant smile as he gently but firmly grasped her fingers.

“Aunt Imogen,” he said respectfully with a bow, “it is a pleasure to meet you at long last. Hermione’s told me many wonderful things.”

Imogen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Has she now?”

Draco nodded. “She couldn’t wait for me to meet you all.” He suddenly sniffed the air.

“Something smells delightful,” he said to her, “you must be cooking already.”

Imogen’s brows rose slightly with renewed interest in him. “Oh? What makes you think I’m the one cooking?”

Draco pulled a slightly confused face and glanced back and forth between her and Hermione before meeting Imogen’s eyes again. “Well…I…I just assumed. Hermione told me you were the best cook in the family. She went on and on for an hour about how much she enjoys your dinners every year. Did you relinquish your cooking crown to another?”

Imogen preened at Draco’s words and then turned her expectant gaze to Hermione. Hermione looked at her sheepishly a moment and then gave her a tentative smile.

“Jett,” Imogen said over her shoulder as she looked smugly back and forth at Hermione and Draco, “take their things up to their guestroom.”

“What?” Jett demanded, uncrossing his arms. She reached forward and took the bag and coat off Draco’s arm and leaned over to take Hermione’s as well.

“Take these up for them,” she ordered again, thrusting the bags and coats at her slouching son.

“Why can’t they take them up themselves?” he grumbled. “Why do I gotta?”

Imogen arched a condemning brow at him. “Because,” she said, “you’ve never complimented my cooking before.”

“I love your cooking,” he offered sulkily.

“Clearly,” Draco said, looking the large man very obviously up and down. There were several gasps from the others at that, but Imogen merely laughed and placed a hand to Draco’s upper arm as Jett tromped loudly up the nearby stairs.

“Do you like salmon, Draco?” Imogen asked him tweely.

“I adore salmon,” he said, allowing himself to be separated from Hermione as her aunt ushered him into the kitchen. Hermione watched them go and then turned back to the others who were all glaring at her.

“Happy Christmas?” she shrugged awkwardly.

“He’s too hot for you,” Peg said. Isabelle nodded in agreement.

“He’s obviously from a higher class of breeding,” Len said approvingly then sniffed at Hermione, “How’d he end up with _you_?”

Hermione balled her fists at her sides but maintained a thin smile. “We went to school together,” she said, “we reconnected when I started working with his company.”

“Office romance,” Jude said with a knowing look at her sneering daughters. They all rolled their eyes as if in on a secret joke. Jude looked back at Hermione. “I assume you’re his secretary?”

Hermione’s smile pursed to a thin line. “Not quite. I said I work _with_ his company, not _for._ I’m a government liaison. I manage all of his connections and appointments with-“

“Bor-ing,” Jett called out obnoxiously as he lumbered back down the stairs to join them. He purposefully bumped her hard in the shoulder as he passed to go into the family room. “No one cares about your stupid office job, nerd.”

Hermione rubbed at her shoulder and glared at him as he retreated into the other room.

“Excuse me,” she said to the others before heading to the kitchen. She pushed open the kitchen door to find Draco, an hors d’oeuvre in each hand and chewing a third, being doted upon by her aunt.

He smiled at her around his bite and held up one of the crackers with pâté in his hands. “Hermione, love,” he said after he swallowed, “you were right. Your aunt’s cooking is exquisite. Come…have one.”

“I don’t know about exquisite,” Imogen simpered with false modesty. She turned to her niece. “Why have you never said anything about how much you enjoy my food before?”

Hermione simply blinked at her and Draco intervened.

“She’s shy,” he said.

Imogen hummed skeptically. “She’s never been afraid to voice her opinions before,” she said.

“Really?” Draco said, feigning ignorance as he went to Hermione’s side. He handed her one of his crackers and then hugged his arm around her waist. “She’s always been rather coy with me. I had to wait ten years just for her to ask me out. ”

“Well, she always was a bit slow,” Imogen said, not noticing Hermione’s incensed glare. The older woman came up to them with a platter full of more appetizers. “But it looks as if she’s finally found some sense.”

She thrust the tray out at Hermione who grabbed it clumsily with the one hand that didn’t have the cracker. “Make yourself useful and take these out to the others,” she ordered before smiling at Draco again. “Would you care for a tour of the house?”

“I should be delighted,” he said, removing his arm from Hermione to hold it out to her aunt.

Hermione glared at Draco's back as he slipped away from her side and disappeared with her aunt to take their tour.

"I am not shy and your food is terrible," she said fiercely to herself now that no one was within earshot and she was free to speak the truth. "Fucking binding vow," she muttered as she pushed back into the front hall with the platter in her hands, “what’s he playing at?”


	4. Conversation

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“He’s much better than that ginger monstrosity you used to bring around,” Jude commented as she plucked a starter from the tray Hermione had deposited on the low table before the couch in the family room. She took a dainty bite as her daughters nodded in agreement.

“Ron was disgusting,” Peg said.

“And poor,” Isabelle added.

Hermione glared at all three of them from where she sat in an oversized armchair in the far corner of the room. “Ron is still a very dear frie-” she started but was cut-off when Peg spoke again.

“Daddy,” she said with an innocent smile at Len, “you’ve always been so good at guessing these things…how much money do you suppose Draco makes in a year?”

Len shrugged as he read the newspaper he’d lifted from a side table. “Given what he drives and the quality of his clothing and his posture…I imagine it’d be close to-”

“Twenty million Pounds,” Draco answered for him as he came into the room with Imogen still on his arm. “That’s only annual net income of course,” he added.

The room’s occupants gaped at him.

“Twenty million?” Jude verified with a hand to her chest.

Draco nodded idly and then turned to Imogen. “You have such a lovely home. Everything is so tastefully decorated. If you don’t mind my asking, who was your interior designer?”

Imogen stared at him for a moment and then batted her lashes at him. “Why…I decorated everything myself,” she simpered smugly.

“You have a gift,” he said, patting her arm before releasing it. “Thank you for showing me around.”

“Of course,” she said, leaning over to pick up the last appetizer from the tray. She handed it to Draco who took it from her with a gracious smile.

“Last one, but don’t worry…” she said in a hushed tone as if it were a special secret, “dinner will be done any moment.”

“I can hardly wait,” he said and then looked around the room at the others and focused on Hermione who was glowering at him.

“Are you feeling alright, love?” he asked her. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m just fine, thank you, _dearest,”_ she snapped.

“Ugh,” Isabelle groaned from where she was sitting on a loveseat beside her sister, “she gets all moody like this every year.”

“Ignore her,” Peg said to Draco, scootching over slightly and patting a hand to the space between her and Isabelle, “Come sit by us.”  

Draco eyed the two girls and then glanced back at a sour looking Hermione.

“I’d rather hoped to sit next to Hermione, if it’s all the same,” he declined, walking over to where Hermione was sitting. “May I?” he asked, motioning to the chair she was occupying. She cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“This won’t fit both of us,” she said.

“Sure it will, here…” he said, popping the salmon-covered cracker into his mouth and then tugging her up by her hands. He sat and pulled Hermione back down onto his lap. She tensed when he put his arms around her waist and settled comfortably back in the chair.

“See,” he said after swiftly swallowing, “nice and cozy. Just like we do at home.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “We don’t have a home,” she contradicted him, realizing too late that she’d broken one of the terms of their agreement. “Aahh!” she cried out as the punishing burn of the vow struck her.

“Heavens,” Jude exclaimed with a hand to her chest as Hermione doubled over on Draco’s lap.

“Are you alright?” he asked her worriedly.

“Like you care,” she breathed at him as the pain ebbed.

“I do,” he whispered back, rubbing a hand over her back. She sat up straight and craned her neck around to look at him.

“How are you able to stand this pain?” she asked under her breath.

Something dark flashed in Draco’s eyes. “I haven’t felt one jolt,” he said very quietly, “I haven’t broken the vow.”

Hermione stared at him as if trying to figure out a difficult equation until Imogen loudly cleared her throat.

“Ahem…”

Hermione and Draco both snapped their attention back to the room’s other occupants and then instinctively shrunk back into the chair together at the intense gazes being cast at them.

“Care to explain what that was about?” Imogen demanded of them.

“I got a cramp,” Hermione blurted out before turning a bright shade of pink.

“Gross,” Jett said from his place before the television.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Peg and Isabelle said together.

Draco calmly turned his attention to them as Hermione tensed again. “What do you ladies do for fun?” he asked them in seeming sincerity to change the subject. They dimpled at him.

“Oh, we do lots of things,” Isabelle answered for the both of them, “shopping, clubbing, modeling…”

“We’re very involved in a number of famous social circles in London,” Peg added proudly. “We’d be happy to introduce you.”

“I’m sure the lad’s already well-connected,” Len said casually.

No one seemed to take any notice of his comment and Jude added proudly, "My girls are studying fashion."

Draco smiled at them. "Of course they are," he said. They predictably blushed.

"Jett's just been accepted into an apprenticeship," Imogen said, the competitive edge clear in her voice.

"I don't think one can call working as a farmhand an apprenticeship,” Len drawled behind his paper. Imogen glared in his direction but, before she could retort, Draco spoke up.

“Now, Len, my good man,” he said professionally, “surely you wouldn’t deny that the very foundation of economic success for any nation is the agricultural workforce.”

Imogen beamed at him as Len lowered the paper.

The beeping of a timer suddenly sounded from the kitchen.

“Oh blast it all,” Imogen said, pushing up from where she’d sat upon a chair, “that’ll be the turkey.”

Everyone watched her rush away through the kitchen door and then brought their attention back to the room. Len smirked at Draco.

“I find it interesting that someone as obviously wealthy as you would take an interest in the common working man,” he said.

Draco gave him a tight smile. “The common working man keeps my company running,” he said.

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him with a look of pure astonishment. “Since when have you car-”

She stopped herself from finishing her thought with an expression that conveyed a concern that it might somehow violate the vow and looked forward again. Draco’s arms tightened slightly around her.

“No,” Len said as if Hermione had not spoken, “investors…investors are what keep business running as it should. So long as the backers are happy, to hell with the working man.”

Draco frowned slightly. “I won’t deny the importance of a proper financial backing, but without a workfor-”

“Machines,” Len interrupted, “that’s what _machines_ are for.”

“Never trusted machines,” Draco said, “I prefer people and I make sure my people know they’re appreciated. In fact, I made certain that every last one of my employees received a bonus last quarter.”

Len rubbed at his chin and looked impressed despite having been countered and Jude, Peg and Isabelle all stared at him admiringly.

“Did he really?” Peg asked, looking to Hermione.

“How much did he give you?” Isabelle followed.

Hermione barely stopped from rolling her eyes. “I – don’t – work – for – his – company,” she said clear and loud. “I work _with_ it. I’m not his employee. This is not an office romance.”

“But it is a romance,” Draco purred next to her ear with a grin. He placed a peck to her temple and she stiffened in his arms. Before she could respond he went on to address the twins’ inquiries, “Though if she were my employee, I’d have given her a very _special_ bonus.”

He winked. “Still might.”

Hermione blushed crimson as Len smirked, Jude gasped and Peg and Isabelle looked put-out with jealousy at the blatant sexual innuendo.

“I don’t appreciate you talking like that in my house, boy,” Sal shouted over his shoulder without turning away from the television he and Jett were watching.

“What’s he grumbling about now?” Imogen asked in annoyance as she poked her head into the room.

Everyone looked at Draco and he smiled sweetly. “I made a reference to my physical affections for Hermione,” he answered honestly, “he said he didn’t appreciate it.”

Imogen glowered across the room at her husband. “Yes, well…the only physical affection he’s going to get is my boot up his arse if he doesn’t get his useless hide in here and help me move this food into the dining room!”

“Do it yourself!” he hollered back.

“Sal, if you don’t get in here I’ll cook you nothing for a month!” she threatened. Sal muttered loudly as he rocked forward to push up from the couch.

“Food’s shite, anyhow,” he continued to grumble as he dragged his feet across the room. He glanced sideways at Draco as he passed. “Fuckin’ little wanker,” he spit out before moving on to where Imogen was. They glared at each other hatefully as she held the door open wider for him to pass and then they both disappeared behind it.

“Don’t let him upset you,” Jude said as she turned back to Draco, “he’s rude to everyone.”

Draco shrugged. “I’m not upset in the least. I’ve taken my share of curses before. I think I can handle his less than original attempt at an insult.”

Hermione slowly turned to look at him again but, before their eyes could meet, Imogen had popped her head back into the room.

“Dinner is ready!”

Len, Jude, Peg, Isabelle and Jett all rose at once and hurried toward the door. Draco released his arms from Hermione’s middle and she hopped up from his lap. She looked up at him as he stood as well.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked irritably, not waiting for a response before turning to go follow the others.

“It’d be better if they weren’t here,” Draco whispered back. She gave a sarcastic chuckle.

“I’m sure.”

He didn’t respond but followed close behind her, his hand at the small of her back, as they filed into the dining room where the others had all spread out around the large table there to take their seats except for Imogen and Sal who were still making their way back and forth to the kitchen with the dishes and serving plates.

Draco pulled out Hermione’s chair for her and bowed slightly at her as she sat. She looked at him curiously, but managed a smile.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. He smiled back and then took his seat beside her. They sat in silence for a moment until Imogen and Sal brought in the final bowls of sides and then sat.

“Dig in!” Imogen announced with a wave of her hands at the food. Everyone except Draco and Hermione began piling their plates high with food in a rush.

Draco watched, slightly awestruck at the abruptness and unrefined manner of their plating.

“And they had a problem with Weasley’s manners?” Draco hissed into Hermione’s ear. She snorted and Imogen shot her a look.

“Not going to partake in your favorite meal of the year?” she asked her niece with narrowed eyes at her empty plate. Draco and Hermione exchanged a glance and then both took up serving spoons to fill their own plates.


	5. Dinner

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"So…You still haven’t told us what line of business you’re in, Draco," Len said, leaning forward, his face holding an expression of genuine interest as the family ate. Draco stilled his fork on its way to stab a potato and looked up.

"I’m the head of a pharmaceutical manufacturing company," he answered easily. Hermione choked on the sip of water she’d just taken.

"It's called swallowing, idiot," Jett jeered at her.

Hermione glared at him.

“And Hermione’s a liaison to your company,” Len went on, “what connection does your company have with Parliament?”

Draco set down his fork. “Many of the ingredients necessary to create our, well I like to refer to them as _potions,”_ he said with a playful grin, causing the others to chuckle and Hermione to hum threateningly, “are highly volatile or valuable or rare, and require government approval for processing and shipment. Hermione makes sure all the involved paperwork is properly handled.”

“She’s always been very bookish,” Jude said in a tone that managed to be both approving and negative at once.

“She’s a know-it-all swot is what she is,” Jett laughed.

“Now, now,” Imogen reproved half-heartedly, “our Hermione can’t help it if she’s inherited her father’s frightful tendencies.” She leaned over to whisper at Draco. “Lord rest his soul but he was dreadfully dull.”

“I’m sitting right here,” Hermione said with a scowl.

“Like we could forget,” Peg said haughtily, “It’s pretty hard to miss you and your hair.”

“And Dad was not dull,” Hermione said, ignoring her cousin, “he was brilliant.”

“He was boring as hell,” Jett said. He made a snooty face and lowered his voice as he mimicked the late Mr. Granger, “Oh, you aren’t flossing, Jettson. Tut, tut. I like to wear khaki trousers. Tut, tut. I’m a dentist.”

Hermione bowed her head over her plate as the others laughed at his impression. Draco watched her blink back tears and then glared up at the still posturing man on her other side.

Hermione heard the whispered _diffindo_ slip from the corner of Draco’s mouth just before the legs of Jett’s chair sheared off to send him toppling backward. Jett flailed his arms comically as he fell and grabbed at the table as he did so, hitting the edge of his full plate. The plate catapulted forward and hit him square in the face to leave him glowering and covered in gravy.

The laughter that was already present at the expense of Mr. Granger doubled as the others watched Jett try to swipe at his mess.

Draco casually chucked a napkin down at him as the man attempted to clean the food from his person with his hands. “You’ve got a little something just there,” he added, wiping a finger at his chin.

Jett glared at him and then his family before pushing up from the floor and stomping out of the room.

“Oh, come back!” Imogen called after him, “We’re just having a bit o’ fun!”

The guffaws died down slowly as the family proceeded to take more of an interest in their meals and finally began to eat without conversation.

Hermione glanced over at Draco as he quietly picked up his fork and lifted a bite to his mouth. “Why did you do that?” she whispered at him.

He shrugged as he swallowed. “Do what?” he said. He looked over at her to see that she had yet to touch her plate. “You should eat,” he added, “it’s your favorite after all.”

Hermione looked back at him for a long moment and then slowly picked up her fork and began to pick at her dinner.

When they’d all had their fill, including Jett who’d sheepishly returned after washing up and seeking-out a folding chair, Imogen looked around at the giant mess of plates and dishes and made a humming noise.

“So,” she said, “who shall we volunteer to do the cleaning up this year?”

“I already did enough cleaning,” Jett pouted sourly, pushing up to stand. He walked off saying over his shoulder, “I’m going to watch the telly.”

“We vote Hermione,” Peg and Isabelle said at once.

“Draco,” Sal sneered from his end of the table.

“Draco’s a guest, you cretin,” Imogen spat at her husband. Sal merely rolled his eyes.

“I’d be happy to help clean-up,” Draco replied at once, “a good guest always offers, of course.”

“I’d better help you,” Hermione said, kicking him under the table. Draco appeared unfazed.

“This will take you all night,” Peg said to Draco motioning about at the many dirty plates and glasses and dishes, “let Hermine do it herself.”

“Yeah,” Isabelle chimed in with a twee smile at him, “we want to hear more about you. You should come and sit with us by the fireplace. Someone as handsome as you shouldn’t be bothered with washing anyway.”

Hermione clenched her fists on the table as Draco smiled at them. “Oh, it’s no bother to me,” he said pleasantly, “I’m a regular wizard at cleaning-up. Between the two of us, we’ll be done so fast you’d think we used magic.”

Hermione kicked him again under the table and he smirked sideways at her.

“Well…I’m sure we’re all very grateful it’ll be you doing the scrubbing and not us,” Len said with a nod to him as he stood. “And try not to be too loud as you do so,” he added snootily before taking his leave. Jude and Sal both got up without comment and followed him out.

Peg and Isabelle both cast disappointed looks at Draco then a glare at Hermione before each rising as well.

“Try not to chip the china,” Imogen said as she gave her mouth one final wipe with her napkin. She got up and patted a hand to Draco’s shoulder. “We’ll all be in the family room whenever you’re finished.”

Draco and Hermione both watched her leave and then sagged back in their chairs. Draco grabbed his glass of water and took a giant gulp and swished.

“Ugh,” he smacked his lips with a nauseous pout, “her food is horrid.”

Hermione merely turned a glare to him before pushing herself up from her chair and stalking off into the attached kitchen.

Draco quickly stood and entered in behind her to find her waving her wand around the room.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Silencing and Muggle repelling spells,” she answered.

“Why are yo-”

“I don’t want them walking in on us,” Hermione snapped, whipping around to face him. She slashed her wand in the direction of the sink and the tap turned on to begin filling it.

Draco eyed the wand in her hand. “Uh…why not?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you honestly going to sully your precious twenty-million-pound-a-year hands with their dirty plates?”

Draco simply stared at her and she sniffed at him. “I thought so,” she said, waving her wand again to send a sponge scrubbing at some pots in the sink. She stalked back to the dining room door and held it open as she flicked her wand once more causing all of the remaining mess on the table to levitate and then float into the kitchen in a procession.

The uneaten food and residue upon them magically separated from them and floated into a rubbish bin as they traveled across the space toward the sink where they dunked into the water and were met with the spelled sponge.

“You’re really incredible, you know,” Draco said in quiet awe of the level of magic required to so flawlessly orchestrate so many washing tasks at once as he watched it all. Hermione shot him a glare.

“Yes… _I’m a regular wizard at cleaning-up_ ,” she sarcastically echoed his words at him. Draco smirked.

“I really hope not,” he teased, “I only go for witches.”

Hermione crossed her arms and shook her head. “I should have known better,” she said, “should have known you’d get on with them.”

“Ha!” Draco barked out. “I couldn’t hate these people more if I tried. How can you stand coming here every year?”

“I already told you,” she said, plopping herself down onto a stool, “they’re the only family I have left.”

Draco shook his head. “So? Staying at home by yourself would be preferable to being blatantly insulted all night.”

Hermione roamed her eyes over to the washing plates. “No,” she said very quietly, “being alone scares the hell out of me. The insults I can take… I suppose I should thank you for that by the way.”

“What?” he asked.

She looked back at him with a sad smile. “The insults. I had to grow a thick skin just to survive my daily run-ins with you in school, didn’t I? Seems there’s a silver lining to everything….”

Draco shifted a bit on his feet and rubbed at his arm. “I, uh…I’m sorry about all tha-”

“Don’t,” Hermione said firmly, cutting off his apology. “It’s in the past. I…I just… _I_ can take the insults, but… _they_ couldn’t.”

“They?”

Hermione shrugged. “Ron…Toby…Charles…they all cracked before dinner.”

“Why bother bringing them here at all,” Draco asked, leaning up against the nearest counter.

She shrugged again. “I guess… I don’t know. I feel like I need to...like I…wait, why am I telling you this?” she said, shaking her head. “Why do you care?”

Draco watched a plate rinse itself under the still flowing tap. “Just trying to understand why someone as brilliant and independent as you would put-up with it all.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “You can stop with that now,” she said, “with the false praise…they can’t hear you.”

Draco tilted his head as he looked at her. “How long have we worked together, Granger?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Nearly four years now, why?”

“And how many regulated ingredient acquisition transactions have you filed for me?”

“Nine-hundred and twelve,” she answered at once.

Draco smiled. “You know the exact number right off the top of your head.  And I’ve not been denied even one of those acquisitions…no else could’ve brought me such results. No one. You ARE brilliant. It’s hardly false praise.”

Hermione creased her brow at that. “Well, I’m very glad you think so,” she said cynically, “I’m so brilliant that I thought it’d be a good idea to bring you here.”

“I think things are going swimmingly,” he said. “They’re totally buying it.”

“Buying what?” she demanded. “What are you selling? Yourself? Your _rich, charming, handsome_ self? For what purpose? I didn’t pay you to come and show-off just how wonderful _the_ Draco Malfoy is.”

She stood up from the stool and slashed her wand at the last of the carefully floating dishes to send them hurtling into the sink with a crash.

“Hermione, what-”

“I don’t know what the hell I was thinking,” she cursed to herself as she stowed her wand back up her sleeve. “You’ve only made everything worse for me.”

Draco stared at her and pursed his lips. “I know what I’m doing,” he said. “You want your family to like and accept your next boyfriend. I’m making sure that happens.”

Hermione shook her head. “The only way that’d happen now is if my next boyfriend was exactly like you!”

Draco opened his mouth to respond, but Hermione was already stomping out the kitchen door.

“I never should have brought you here,” she spat at him when he rushed out just behind her.

“Hermione, please,” he said as they came into view of the rest of the family. They all turned their heads to watch the commotion. Hermione merely stomped up the stairs without a word or look back at anyone and Draco flinched slightly when she slammed the door to their room shut. He slowly turned to see the others staring.

“Feisty one, she is,” he said a bit uncomfortably.

“This happens every year,” Peg noted in a lamenting drone.

“Hermione starts a fight,” Isabelle sighed back gloomily, “and then the boy always leaves.”

Draco looked back up at Hermione’s door. “I’m not leaving,” he said firmly.

“She’s lucky that you continue to put up with her,” Jude said with a shake of her head.

“Ungrateful, that’s what she is,” Len chimed in, “decent bloke like you…you ought to have seen the ones she used to date.”

“They were terrors,” Isabelle nodded.

“Not like you,” Peg added.

Draco looked around at them all. “You all would know something about terrors, wouldn’t you?”

The insult was lost on them and they merely nodded.

 “It’s just such a relief that she’s managed to find someone as successful as you, what with her having her mother’s wretched looks and her father’s personality,” Imogen sighed as she rose from her chair and came to his side.

Jude nodded. “We’d all hoped that one day Hermione would make an effort with herself…like my girls. Maybe she will now that she has you to encourage her.”

Draco stiffened slightly. “I think Hermione is beautiful as she is,” he said.

“Her blessed father used to say the same thing, the sad sap,” Imogen replied, shaking her head and patting his arm, “it’s ok, lad. You don’t need to pretend with us.”

“I’m not pretending,” Draco said shortly, “I’m done pretending.”


	6. Departure

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The members of the family all simply smiled as Draco’s declaration that he was no longer pretending seemed to go unheard and Imogen patted his arm again.

“Just know we’ll be here for you if she gets to be too much,” she offered, “we’d like you to think of us as family now.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at that. “Yeah,” he said, “I bet you would. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to attempt to console the love of my life. How she’s ever managed to put up with the lot of you, I don’t know. I think you are all despicable, and, coming from me, that means something.”

“Excuse me?” Len asked crossly as the others gaped at Draco’s sudden harshness.

“Never in my life have I met a family as unloving and unsupportive as yours,” Draco replied, “You haven’t any idea what Hermione has gone through in her life.”

He turned and glared at Imogen, “She fought in a fucking war and lost more friends than she can stand to count and your fat-fuck son has the balls to make fun of her deceased father, YOUR brother, right to her face. And you laughed. Know this, madam…I’m going to personally see to it that you and the rest of your wretched family never find prosperity. You will wallow here in your shabby house, eating bland, undercooked food, and squabbling with your slow, bigoted husband for the rest of your miserable life.”

“Told you he was no good,” Sal spat from where he sat.

“How dare you?” Jude demanded angrily.

Draco turned the most contemptuous look he could manage to her. “How dare I what? Tell the truth? Well, let me tell you some more. You’re boring and cold-hearted. Your husband is more so and smarmy to boot. And those two,” he said, pointing to the twins, “are the shallowest, ugliest, least interesting girls I’ve ever had the displeasure of faking my way through liking.”

Imogen and Sal both shook with rage as Peg and Isabelle both started crying. Len and Jude glared daggers at Draco who had bent over and was tugging up the right leg of his trousers.

“Get out,” Imogen demanded then, “you get out of my house you dis-”

_“Obliviate.”_

The whispered spell slipped easily over Draco’s lips as he pointed his wand at her and then swiveled it swiftly around at the others. He smirked as their eyes all went vacant and they blinked at him stupidly. He quickly stowed his wand back into his ankle holster and then stood up.

“You’re all very tired,” he told them pleasantly, “you want to go to bed. You’re going to go up to your rooms right now and go to sleep.”

They all blinked again and then turned to each other. “We should go to sleep,” they said to each other as they all stood.

Draco stepped to the side to allow them to dazedly march past him and up the stairs. He watched them disappear down the upstairs hall to their respective rooms and then travelled his gaze to the closed door of the guestroom Hermione was in. He took a deep breath and then made his way up.

“Well, congratulations,” Hermione said when Draco finally entered their room a moment later and shut the door.

He made a face as he turned to her where she stood. “Congratulations for what?”

Hermione sniffed at him and shook her head. “Such a bastard,” she muttered to herself as she crossed her arms. She waited a moment and then looked back at him with a despondency in her eyes that made him cringe.

“Congratulations on getting in one last major insult,” she said. “Take my money, make me think you’re actually going to help me…then pull this. I knew you were ruthless, but I’d thought after all these years you’d…” She shook her head again and hugged her arms tighter around herself.

Draco regarded her for a minute. “We made a binding vow,” he said, “a vow that ensured I’d be myself. That’s all I’ve done.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “yourself. Your lying, conniving, Slytherin self. That’s all you’ve been all day.”

Draco suddenly looked like he’d been punched in the gut. “That…that’s not what I intend-”

“Just stop,” Hermione said quietly. She leaned against the nearest wall and closed her eyes with a sigh. “Why don’t you just go back down there and have your fun. You’ve been such a huge help, Malfoy,” she whispered sarcastically.

“I sent them all to bed,” he said flatly. “They were pissing me off.”

Hermione laughed derisively at that, but didn’t say anything.

 “I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Draco said, looking wholly miserable, sitting down on the low bed and lounging back on his arms, “your whole intent was to change their perspective so they’d finally like someone you brought here. They like me.”

"Yes,” she agreed angrily, opening her eyes, “but now...now they'll like _only_ you! They’ll really hate anyone else I bring along because they’ll always be comparing him to you!"

Draco's chest rose and fell with several heavy breaths as he stared back at her.

"Then maybe you should just keep bringing _me_ back," he said very seriously.

Hermione began to scoff and then stopped abruptly when the statement seemed to really register. Her eyes widened as she looked him in his.

"Thing for a Muggle-born?" she nearly whispered.

Draco swallowed hard as he sat straight and set his shoulders. "I...I want to be the one you keep bringing back," he said.

Hermione lowered her arms from her chest as she stared at him in shocked realization. "Three years?"

Something like sadness flickered in his eyes as he lightly shook his head. "More like ten," he said quietly.

"But..." Hermione started, suddenly frowning, "...but you were horrible to me. You-"

"Said what I had to at the time," he interrupted. "I've liked you since we were thirteen. But I was...my father still had a lot of influence over me then and I listened when he said not to pursue you. By the time I realized how wrong his ideas were...the Dark Lord had returned and I knew it'd be too dangerous to be with you."

Hermione processed his words with a few calming puffs and then shook her head. "But...what about after? We won the war. I've worked with you for years now. You've never said anything. You were a jerk to me just last week when I asked you to come here!"

"Would you have believed me if I'd said anything before now?" Draco asked harshly. "If I'd acted all doey-eyed and excited that you were finally, FINALLY, presenting me with a chance to win you over would you have trusted me?"

Hermione made a face. “Of course I -“

“No,” he cut her off again, “no you wouldn’t have. I’m the prick, remember? You said so yourself just today. Always the prick.”

His facial muscles twitched at that and for a moment he looked as if he might cry, but caught himself quickly and set his expression into an angry pout. Hermione studied him for a moment and then kicked off the wall and went to the bed and sat beside him.

“Why are you always the prick?” she asked.

Draco shook his head and looked away from her to glare at the wall. “It’s what everyone expects me to be, isn’t it? I have a reputation. In my business…if you deviate from your reputation…it makes you look unpredictable, unreliable. Nothing scares away investors and customers faster than unpredictability.”

 “So you just pretend to be an arsehole?” Hermione asked outright.

Draco didn’t respond and simply continued to glare at the wall. Hermione sat, silently watching him until, after a whole minute, he finally sagged and put his forehead in his hands.

“I…I just wanted one person…just one person besides my mother to know who I really am,” he said shakily. “To be able to come home and shake it off and just be…”

“Yourself?”

Draco sighed behind his hands. “I thought…with the binding vow you’d… But not even that worked. Fucked it all up didn’t I? … Always the failure…always the prick.”

Hermione’s mouth twisted in thought. “You said your father knew you liked me?”

He simply nodded and she went on. “Does he know you’re with me now?”

“Why do you think he’s not speaking to me?” he said.

Hermione was quiet for a time as she looked down at her hands twisting in her lap and eyed the small chip in the polish on her thumb. “What did you do with the money that I paid you to come here?” she finally asked. Draco gave a small, mirthless chuckle.

"Nothing,” he said hopelessly, “It's sitting in a bag in the boot of my car at this very moment. I was going to give it back to you the moment we got back to your place."

“And then what?” she asked, turning herself and lifting her one leg up onto the bed to face him. “You thought I’d just fall in love with you and we’d live happily ever after?”

Draco shrugged. “A bloke can dream, right?”

Hermione reached up and gently pulled his hands down from his face and set them in his lap. “Kiss me,” she said. Draco looked askance at her.

“I don’t want your pity, Granger,” he said. She squeezed his fingers.

“I want you to kiss me,” she repeated. He raised his face and blinked at her.

“Why?”

She was quiet for a second and then answered, “My mum once told me that you can tell a man’s true intentions by the way he first kisses you.”

Draco simply looked at her and she released his hands and started to turn away. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to, I-”

Draco grabbed at her hands. “No, I…” he gulped and scanned his eyes over her relaxed features. He raised one hand up slowly and tentatively touched it to her face. When she didn’t flinch or pull away, he cupped his palm to her cheek and licked his bottom lip before cautiously leaning forward to set his mouth to hers.

Both of their eyes fluttered shut at the kiss and Draco slid his hand toward the back of her head to pull her closer.

The kiss was slow and determined and Draco moaned as if he were a man receiving water after a thirst. Hermione raised a hand to his hair and pressed herself into him as their tongues found each other and deepened the kiss. The snogging went on for some minutes until Hermione finally pulled back.

“Wow,” she said breathlessly, her fingers coming up to brush over her mouth. Draco licked his lips and looked at her like he’d experienced nirvana.

“Are you alright?” she asked with a small chuckle. He nodded mutely and then shook himself of his daze.

“Well,” he said anxiously, “do you believe my intentions?”

Hermione licked at her own bottom lip. “I…I think so,” she replied softly.

"So, what…what now?" he asked, daring to let a bit of optimism into his voice. Hermione smiled and laced her fingers with his.

"I… I think we ought to get to know each other...start-off properly," she replied.

Draco was quiet for a moment and then smiled back. "I hate salmon," he said.

Hermione barked out a laugh. "And she made you eat so much of it!"

He scrunched up his nose in disgust. "And she promised more tomorrow," he replied with a groan and shuddered for effect.

"Well..." Hermione said, biting back another laugh, " _my_ house is entirely salmon-free."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah...?"

She nodded. "Yeah. We could...maybe go there. We’d have the whole weekend just to ourselves to…to work on getting to know each other.”

She suddenly looked self-conscious when Draco simply blinked at her. “Of course,” she rushed on, “I'll understand if you prefer to spend the rest of the holiday here what with how much they all-"

"No, no," he interrupted, "I think I'd much prefer salmon-free...and Sal-free, and Jett-free, and Peg and Isabelle-fr- oomph!"

He was silenced by Hermione flinging herself forward and covering his mouth with hers in another kiss. He grinned at her widely when she pulled back a moment later.

"Let's go," she said, standing to grab her coat. Draco nodded in agreement but then looked thoughtful.

"What about Christmas being a time for family?" he asked.

Hermione shrugged. “I think I’ve had enough ‘family’ to last several Christmases…we can go.”

Draco smirked and stood. "So... do we tell them we're leaving or just slip out?" he asked.

Hermione tugged on her coat. “If you want to say your farewells, be my guest. I’ll be in the car,” she said.

Draco snatched up his coat and both of their bags. He gave her a playful grin. “Two thousand Galleons says I beat you there.”

“You’re on,” she said, biting her lip and taking a quick step at the door that had Draco bolting out of the room. Hermione watched him disappear out the door and then shook her head and touched the wand up her sleeve before Disapparating with a crack.

She landed half a second later right next to Draco’s car. She giggled to herself as she watched Draco stumble out the front door and race over.

“About time you got here,” she teased when he finally ran up to her. He panted slightly.

“How…you?”

She merely gave him a smug look of triumph and opened her door. Draco watched her get in and chuckled low in his throat.

“You cheated,” he said, grinning as he got into the car.

“Did we say ‘no magic’?” Hermione challenged.

Draco tossed their bags into the back seat. “No, I don’t suppose we did,” he conceded. The upstairs windows suddenly glowed bright with lights and both Draco and Hermione snapped their attention up at them.

“Looks like your little Apparating stunt woke the others,” he said.

Hermione frowned up at the house. “Fuck ‘em,” she said, eliciting an amused smirk from the blond at her right, “Let’s go.”

Draco beamed at her a moment until lights flared to life in the downstairs windows of the house as well.

“Shit,” he cursed, turning from her and fumbling with the keys at the ignition.

“Go, go, go!” Hermione squealed urgently.

“I’m trying!” he said, finally starting the engine.

“Drive, Draco! Go, go!” she shouted as he threw the car into gear. The front door of the house opened then to reveal a livid looking Imogen wearing a dressing gown.

“Hermione Jean!!” the woman hollered angrily.

“GO! GO!” Hermione screeched, pawing at Draco’s arm as he whipped the car around and put pedal to the metal.

Gravel spit in all directions as the tires spun fiercely and Hermione cackled loudly as she looked back to see Imogen shielding her face behind the edge of her dressing gown from the flying rocks.

The tires finally caught and they sped forward. Hermione quickly lowered the window and leaned out of it to yell back at her aunt.

“Happy Christmas!!!” she hollered, two finger salute held high. Draco laughed at her.

“I think I’m really going to enjoy getting to know you,” he said as she pulled herself back inside and rolled the window back up. Hermione grinned over at him and eyed the way he changed gears again.

“Did you really learn to drive just for me?” she asked.

Draco nodded as they sped away from the property. Hermione placed her hand over his on the shifter.

“I think I’m going to enjoy getting to know you too.”


	7. Epilogue

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Imogen turned the envelope over in her hands and narrowed her eyes at the surname scrolled where a return address would normally be.

Malfoy.

She glared after the postman’s rickety delivery truck as it rolled away down her drive and then tromped back inside, mail in hand.

“Well, what’d we get?” Sal demanded of her when she reentered the house and shook the cold and snow from her person.

“Well, I haven’t opened it yet, now have I?” she spat at him. Sal muttered something rude and rolled his eyes as his wife scowled at him briefly before slipping a finger into the top of the envelope to open it.

She pulled from it a plain, white card and unfolded it to find a hand written note.

“Well?” Jett piped up, from the place he occupied on the couch.

“It’s from Hermione,” she said.

“What the hell does _she_ want?” Sal sneered.

Imogen held the card up and read it out loud.

 

_“Dearest Sal, Imogen, and Jett,_

_Thank you for offering us an invitation to stay with you over the Christmas holiday. We regret to inform you that we will be unable to attend as we’ve decided to extend our honeymoon indefinitely. Please pass our warmest regards to the rest of the family and we wish you all the happiest of Christmases._

_Sincerely,_

_Draco and Hermione”_

 

Imogen hummed at the letter and then pulled from the envelope a second card. She stared at the colorful montage of images of Draco and Hermione laughing and smiling together in various tropical settings.

“I thought you said you weren’t inviting them this year after the way they left last year,” Jett said with a confused frown.

“She didn’t you imbecile,” Sal snapped at him. “The little bint was being sarcastic.”

Jett looked put-out at having been insulted by his father but said nothing more as Imogen covertly smiled down at the cards in her hands.

“Well played, love,” she whispered.


End file.
